Tasting the splendour
by Reaf
Summary: They each leave their print, like flesh on clay, but sometimes the pressure is too much and the clay cracks.


Tasting the splendour ~

**TITLE: **Tasting the splendour

**AUTHOR: **Reaf.

**RATED: **17

**CHARACTERS: **The Doctor (tenth), Rose Tyler,

**DISCLAIMER: **Doctor Who is categorically, unconditionally and without doubt the BBC's. *Grumble*

**SPOILERS: **Set decades after Journey's End.

**WARNINGS: **Angst/hurt/comfort/romance/explicit sex.

**SYNOPSIS: **They each leave their print, like flesh on clay, but sometimes the pressures too much and the clay cracks.

_I only wish you weren't my friend,  
Then I could hurt you in the end.  
I never claimed to be a Saint.  
Oh, my own was banished long ago,  
It took the Death of Hope to let you go._

-Slipknot; snuff.

**~.~**

i.

It would have been sunrise.

Golden flares blistered free to join the dense smoke rise in a frenzy of massacre.

Electric veins crawled alongside a mighty glass dome, splintering it during its wake.

Words of two languages, too quiet to hear, but enough to understand frayed apart.

But, only one eradicated.

The suns collapsed in on themselves soon after, held tightly for a moment in a coil of absence before turning nova.

When the eminent lights finally withered, and the screams were merely fabricated echoes that had ceased hours ago, the shining world of the seven systems perished.

And it was then, the Doctor started running.

Whoever had first developed the phrase – 'Time is a great healer', obviously had not fallen in love with an enduringly scarred time traveling alien from a planet long since perished, only to be separated by a bleak void of foreseeable fate, because under those terms, time was categorically, unreservedly and without doubt_ not_ a healer.

She never believed it was possible to miss something so acutely. Truth be told, she'd thought they were wedged together, and that no amount of threat or force could possibly divide that blend. She, as any human would be, was far too enthralled with time travel to take notice of aftershocks and endings of which she would rather not reflect upon. She was living a life shrouded by impossible one minute, but then had to operate within a forgotten and discarded environment the next. Culture shock, through and through.

She missed the thrill and the freedom of it all and yes, even the life threatening danger. She missed many of her lost belongings too, especially her union jack t-shirt that she daren't even wear after certain events but she missed the memory. She missed the comforting song of the Tardis whenever she felt scared or tired, how it guided her into pleasant dreams and steered her from nightmares. The way it behaved like both a mother and a friend, but most of all how it was strewn across a palette of time and lead them to places far too extraordinary to even dream.

As for the Doctor, words could not begin to suffice how much the gaping wound stung at his absence.

A wound time did not seem to want to heal.

Jackie had merely intended for it to be a suggestion, a possibility, a maybe or maybe not situation. Not an absolute certainty of which it now seemed.

"I just think," Jackie dubiously continued, kneeling to retrieve a further piece of lego hidden beneath the coffee table, of which she thought she had cleared the last of. "—it'd be a good opportunity for her to, you know—" she gave a fleeting glance around the room, ensuring it was still only occupied by herself and her husband, "—move on."

Pete Tyler stared impassively into his mug of remaining coffee, regarding his wives proposal. "And, I suppose it'd have the advantage of meeting, well—" he swilled the mug and watched indecisively at the liquid spiraled into a vortex blur of brown froth. He sniffed, loosing sudden interest and placing the distraction down. "Well, different people."

"People who have more appreciation for life rather than chips, work and sleep." She rectifies, thinking of her own daughters words as she does so, but then adds. "People who've sampled the splendor."

"Quite," he grants, "—or a similar one at least."

Jackie heedlessly tossed two plastic lego bricks into their container and fell into the seat next to Pete. He offered her a tolerable smile and reached out to give her hand a gentle pat, which quickly converted to a squeeze and she returned the gesture ruefully. "I'll arrange it, no problem."

But Jackie made a dim sound of disapproval. "Maybe, I should talk to her first? Suggest it, at least." she vaguely recommended, but he shook his head.

"I think you know what she'd say."

"Mm." she somewhat concurs, because she does.

A muted vibration surfaced through Pete's trouser pocket, declining any further discussion.

"Right, that's me." He clarifies, eying a device similar to a mobile, but presumably more superior. "If all goes well, this should be last conference of the year."

"And you couldn't have gotten closer to the end of it, if you'd have tried." She moaned, retrieving her own and Pete's mugs. "But, you better had ensure it all goes well Peter Tyler. We haven't even started shopping for Christmas, not properly anyway." Jackie suddenly smiled blissfully, followed by a more than content sigh. "Still, it should be good shouldn't it? A proper Christmas, a happy Christmas and after last years, it certainly couldn't be worse. Me, you, Tristian, Mickey and Rose. A happy, content Rose and not a miserable, depressed one." Grinning, Jackie pointed a stern finger in her husbands' direction. "So yes, Pete Tyler, that is your mission. To find her a man, the most brilliant man; handsome, intelligent, sincere, romantic, funny, cheerful and even little bit mad. But, for her Pete, do it for her."

_20 years later_

Duffle bags were surprisingly quite spacious, Rose Tyler mused, as she scattered its contents across the floor and wondered when exactly she had decided to pack such immaterial trivia.

A small woolen blanket, an oversized grey hooded jumper, a stupidly long vibrant scarf with matching mittens, two toothbrushes but not paste, a hairbrush and vanity mirror, thick rimmed reading glasses, an empty flask of water, a chained key and physic paper.

"I can't have lost it." She cursed softly, tipping the vacant bag and shaking it hard. "I packed it, I know I did. I—"

A gentle knock at the door freed Rose from her notions.

"Its open." she called quietly, eyes slipping closed, whether it be from weariness or remorse, she wasn't sure.

"I didn't mean to disturb you —" the voice hesitated from the doorway, feet dragging against mental. "I'm sure you're tired and well, just want to have a shower and rest after the journey you've had, but—"

"Doctor, I can't even see you." She smiled into her hands, head rising. "Come in, will you."

He stilled for a moment before shuffling awkwardly into the room. His eyebrows drew together faintly as he observed the vista. "This was in the console room," he explained, slender fingers fiddling with a stuffed toy, a stuffed toy which seemed to resemble that of a stereotypical green alien. "It must've fallen from that bag of yours," Rose's eyes lit up once they fixated on the subject and she exhaled a short sigh of relief. Sniffing, he handed the stuffed creature over to her keen hands. "I've yet to encounter that one."

There eyes meet for a fleeting moment, but the concise bond illustrates nothing.

Needing to interrupt the connection, Rose quickly tucks the plaything under the duvet of the bed above her.

"What's his name?" the Doctor finds himself asking.

Rose closed her eyes, knowing this was bound to strike. Licking her lips, she caught a faintly bitter taste, similar to stale coffee but didn't quite remember drinking anything other than water. "He doesn't have one."

"I didn't mean the toy."

"I know."

There was a long span of silence then, and Rose found herself contemplating the situation that had suddenly engaged her. For a period, she had been a young reckless teenager who had gotten a chance. A little down the line and she had grown up, fallen in love, got married, had a child and lived the 'not so perfect but close enough' human life. But, when she looked back into those pending lonely eyes, she found herself feeling younger and worthless than ever.

The Doctor shifted a little. "If you're not tired," he started, but didn't seem to continue. "We could—" he shrugged, clearly tentative. "Have tea?"


End file.
